Slytherin Potter
by SamWillington
Summary: Harry Potter goes to Hogwarts and is sorted into Slytherin. He first off hates his Slytherin peers, but grows to be more like one himself and change himself. DISCONTINUED
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note:**_ _My first fanfiction. Tell me if you think I should do anything in the future. Most of this is from the original. I don't own anything. I'll try and update maybe daily, if anyone's interested._

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There's nothing hidden in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve, and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, if you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Will always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't get in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispered to Harry. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Harry smiled weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but he did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Harry didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moments pause -

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Ron's twin brothers catcalling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. Harry had heard about them, but looking at them, they didn't seem so bad from a first glance.

He was starting to feel definitely sick now. He remembered being picked for teams during gym at his old school. He had always been last to be chosen, not because he was no good, but because no one wanted Dudley to think they liked him.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, Harry noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy next to Harry in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. Ron groaned.

A horrible thought struck Harry, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he'd better get back on the train?

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag."

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

There weren't many people left now. "Moon"..., "Nott"..., "Parkinson"..., then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil"..., then "Perks, Sally-Anne"..., and then, at last -

"Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"Potter, did she say?"

"The Harry Potter?"

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, A my goodness, yes - and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting... So where shall I put you?"

Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, just pick a house. Please. Don't make me sit here any longer.

"Anywhere, eh?" the small voice said, "I know just where to put you…SLYTHERIN!"

The whole hall fell completely and utterly silent. He could feel hundreds of eyes glaring at him, some suprised, some angry. He glanced at Ron, standing in front of him. Ron glared at Harry. Harry wondered what he did wrong.

At last, after what felt like a century, someone at the Slytherin table began to clap. Feeling he should move, he placed the hat on the stool and walked to the Slytherin table. He sat in one of the only open spaces, which was next to Draco Malfoy.

He could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest him sat Hagrid, who tried to avoid his eye for some reason. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry recognized him at once from the card he'd gotten out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore's looked somewhat confused, but Harry shook it off. Maybe it was because no-one clapped for him.

And now there were only three people left to be sorted. "Thomas, Dean," a Black boy even taller than Ron, joined Harry at the Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ron's turn. He was pale green by now. A second later, the hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy Weasley pompously across the hall as "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Harry looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realized how hungry he was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago.

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not.

"Is he - a bit mad?" Harry asked Malfoy, who was sitting next to him.

"Mad? Of course he's mad!" said the blonde, smirking. "My father says that Dumbledore is the worst headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. He is the strongest wizard in the world though."

Looking forward, Harry's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

The Dursleys had never exactly starved Harry, but he'd never been allowed to eat as much as he liked. Dudley had always taken anything that Harry really wanted, even if It made him sick. Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and began to eat. It was all delicious.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding...

As Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their families.

"I'm a pure blood," bragged Malfoy. "One of the purest blood families in the wizarding world!"

Harry was confused. "What do you mean by pure blood?"

Some of the Slytherins near him laughed. Malfoy smirked.

"I forgot you were raised by muggles! Pure-blood means that you have two magical parents. Half-blood means you have one magical parent, and Muggle-born means you were born a muggle but you have magical blood. Mudbloods.." Malfoy added.

Harry, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes - and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.

"What is it?" asked Malfoy.

"N-nothing."

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harry had gotten from the teacher's look - a feeling that he didn't like Harry at all.

"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asked a Prefect.

"You know Quirrell but you don't know our head of house? That's Professor Snape, he's the potions master. Everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job though."

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem - just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry laughed, but he was one of the few who did.

"He's not serious?" he muttered to Malfoy.

"Must be," said Malfoy, frowning at Dumbledore. "He is the worst headmaster at Hogwarts, of course, but he must of at least have a reason."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

And the school bellowed:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we've forgot, just do your best, we'll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot."

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note:**_ _Wow, thanks! I'll try and make this daily. This is a short chapter, apologies. Next chapter will most likely be significantly longer. Sorry for the delay. I would've wrote this morning but I couldn't. I don't own anything._

The Slytherin first years followed a prefect through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and down a marble staircase, into the dungeons. Harry's legs were like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. They went down staircases until finally, they stopped in-front of a wall with a small doorway, but blocked. The prefect then told the wall a password. The door slid open and they went in.

"Welcome to Slytherin," said the prefect that lead them down, "My name is Gemma Farley. I'm a Slytherin Prefect. Oh, before I forget," she added, pulling out her wand. She gave it a quick flick at the first years. Harry looked down and was surprised that suddenly his uniform had turned green and silver.

"There are a few things you should know about this house before the term. Most of the other houses and professors will not trust you. Slytherin is infamous for producing dark wizards and everyone thinks we're evil. That's not true. We've all got similar attributes that other students don't trust."

"Quite right, Miss Farley, thank you," came a voice from behind the First Years. Harry turned to see Professor Snape, the head of house.

"I am Professor Snape, for any of you that don't know. I am your head of house for the remainder of your time at Hogwarts." Snape looked over all of them. Harry noticed Snape was looking at him a second longer than anyone else.

"Whilst in Slytherin, you will be expected to maintain the highest standard. Losing house points for Slytherin is not tolerated. If you lose more than twenty in one go, or lose twenty house points in the frame of a week, you will be in detention with me," said Snape in a silky voice, "Make sure it doesn't happen." Snape nodded at Gemma.

"Thank you, sir. First years, your dormitory will be at the bottom of the staircases. Boys on the left, girls on the right. Get to bed quickly, you must not be late for your first lesson. Good night." Gemma nodded at them and proceeded down the right staircase to her dormitory.

As Harry entered his dormitory, he noticed that his trunk had been unpacked. His bed was the furthest from the door. As he was getting changed into nightclothes, his fellow first years came in, lead by Malfoy.

"Ah, hello Potter," he said, moving to his bed and getting changed, "I didn't say this down at the feast, but I honestly didn't think you'd get into Slytherin. I thought almost for certain you'd be a Gryffindor."

"Believe me Malfoy, I didn't think I'd be a Slytherin either," Harry told him, "but I can't change house so I'm stuck here for the rest of Hogwarts."

Malfoy smirked. "You really think being a Slytherin is bad? You'll soon get use to it, Potter. Until you do, I think that we should be civil to each other, don't you?"

Harry got into bed. "Fine," he said, "but not best friends, alright?"

Malfoy looked at Harry. "Deal," he said, "but I think you'll find we'll be good friends by the end of the year."

Harry said nothing as he closed his green curtains around his bed. When he collapsed into bed, his mind was elsewhere. He wondered why he was sorted into Slytherin. He couldn't of had the same attributes as Malfoy, could he? He also hated Ron for suddenly seeming to hate him after his sorting. It wasn't his fault he was sorted into Slytherin, was it?

As he fell asleep, he planned what he was going to say to Ron the next day.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note:**_ _I can't think of a timetable for Slytherin, I guess I'll just make it up as I go along. I own nothing. Sorry for being 2 days too late! Whoopss….._

Harry rushed up the staircase from the dungeons, anxious to meet Ron to see if he'd still be friends or if he'd feel betrayed. Coincidentally, he happened to meet Ron just as he was at the top of the marble staircase.

"Oh, look, it's the Slytherin traitor!" Ron said to two other boys from his year, that Harry recognised as Dean and Seamus.

"Look, Ron, it's not my fault I was sorted for Slytherin, hon-"

"Look, Potter," Ron interrupted, "I honestly don't care about what you have to say. Most of it'd probably be lies. No-one likes a Slytherin, so how about you hop it-"

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Weasley!" came a voice from behind Ron. Harry saw Professor Snape standing there.

"Get to lessons before I deduct more points! Move!"

Harry walked off to his first lesson; transfiguration. He got into the class late, but Professor McGonagall hadn't arrived yet. He sat in his place, just as a cat on the professor's desk jumped off and turned into the Professor.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger had made any difference to her match; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave Hermione a rare smile.

The next class Harry had was Defence against the Dark Arts.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts?" smirked Malfoy. "Professor Quirrell is a joke; he hardly teaches anyone anything!"

As it turned out, Malfoy was right. All Quirrell did was talk about things he did to ward off dark spirits. He smelled funny too, which Malfoy thought was his turban stuffed with garlic to stop vampires.

Friday was an important day for Harry. He finally managed to find his way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once.

"What have we got today?" Harry asked Malfoy as he poured sugar on his porridge.

"Double Potions with the Gryffindors," said Malfoy, "Snape always favours us."

Just then, the mail arrived. Harry had gotten used to this by now, but it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

Hedwig hadn't brought Harry anything so far. She sometimes flew in to nibble his ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Harry's plate. Harry tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:

Dear Harry,

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three?

I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.

Hagrid

Harry borrowed Malfoy's quill, scribbled Yes, please, see you later on the back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, Yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new - celebrity."

Ronald Weasley and his friends Seamus and Dean sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word - like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

"Weasley!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"I don't know, sir," said Weasley.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer. Hermione raised her hand

"Tut, tut"

He ignored Hermione's hand.

"Let's try again. Weasley, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"How am I supposed to know?" yelled Ron at Professor Snape

"Tut tut tut, Mr Weasley. A detention for your cheek," snarled Snape

Ron's cheeks turned bright red, his hands turning into fists.

"For your information, Weasley, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

Harry and Malfoy exchanged glances and smirked.

At five to three he left the castle and made his way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

When Harry knocked he heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang - back."

Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

"Hang on," he said. "Back, Fang."

He let Harry in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Harry and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but Harry and Ron pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry's knee and drooled all over his robes.

Harry was delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch "that old git."

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her - Filch puts her up to it."

Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet :

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

"Hagrid!" said Harry, "that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!"

There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn't meet Harry's eyes this time. He grunted and offered him another rock cake. Harry read the story again. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for?

As Harry walked back to the castle for dinner, his pockets weighed down with rock cakes he'd been too polite to refuse, Harry thought that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given him as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected that package just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Snape that he didn't want to tell Harry?


End file.
